


Atonement

by steve_rogers



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, angst and fluff my favorite combination, i don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steve_rogers/pseuds/steve_rogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More than anything, Tony longs for him. If he goes to visit, he might, perhaps, decide to never leave again. He misses him; his bones ache for Steve’s bright smile and glistening eyes and the pleasant dignity he brings into every conversation. It stings to know that he may possibly never see those things again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atonement

“He’s not going to wake up,” someone mutters.

Tony looks up at the other people in the room for the first time in twenty minutes in absolute shock. No one can blame him. After all, no one but him watched Steve crash into frozen waters for the second time in his life. It was a harsh thing to witness; Steve’s body, the blue suit he had been wearing covered almost entirely in blood, colliding with the ice encasing the Hudson River. It was gory and hopeless and the impact was absolutely colossal. He wasn’t even sure from what height Steve had been dropped. JARVIS had said it was around five hundred feet, which is taller than the Empire State Building.

Steve is unconscious in a S.H.I.E.L.D. hospital bed. The Avengers are all in the same room. Tony sits in a chair across from the bed and has his face buried in his hands, that is, until he looks up. Steve had been brought in about an hour ago and has been comatose for two and a half. He’s dying, or at least he was for a while. Tony is not sure.

It had been his fault, of course. It always is. Tony could have quite easily reached Steve in time if he had followed orders and stayed close. He was supposed to be fighting with Steve, by his side the entire time. Things seemed promising after a while, and he had left to go help Natasha, who was very much in real danger at the time. Steve said nothing. The next time Tony turned to look at him, Captain America was seven seconds away from colliding with the water’s solid surface.

 _Again_.

No one wants to think about what was going through Steve’s head during the time. Hopefully not déjà vu. Perhaps he was thinking about how much he hated Tony Stark, which would be absolutely acceptable. Better to die with rage than with sorrow or, even worse, fear. Even he would agree.

Tony hates himself, so it’s okay for Steve to do the same. Nobody would hold it against him, if he lives long enough to tell the world how it was Tony’s fault.

“He’ll wake up,” Bruce mutters back. “Just not… soon.” Tony still isn’t sure whose voice Bruce is disagreeing with, but he hopes the scientist is right. He shifts his gaze back to Steve again.

“I hope,” Thor grumbles, “that his antitoxin will do its job properly.” He’s pacing the floor with agitation, Mjolnir pressed firmly in his hand.

“The serum,” Natasha says, in agreement with the god. “It’ll work. It just has to kick in.”

“It took seventy years to kick in last time this happened,” Clint reminds them. It’s not a hostile remark; he’s just pointing out a fact, and unfortunately he’s right. He’s leaning against the wall in the far corner, staring at the ground.

Steve has severe hypothermia, a broken clavicle, a shattered rib that is piercing his left lung, three broken fingers, a dislocated shoulder, a gunshot wound in the abdomen, and possible brain damage. At least, that’s what he had when they brought him here. The doctors were able to correct the more urgent and treatable issues, like the lung problem and the bullet wound. They’re still working on the hypothermia, as that is a longer process, but for now he’s in a recovery room. They injected him with twice the usual dosage of morphine, but he was not anesthetized. The major concerns now are his body temperature, the hypothetical brain injuries, and the fact that he might not wake up.

 _Merry Christmas, Steve_.

Other than the paleness of his face and the bruises surrounding it, Steve looks peaceful. He looks beautiful. Maybe this numb state is providing him with the tranquility he yearns for. Right now, that is the last thread of hope on which Tony lingers.

Tony feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to find Bruce glancing down at him. “Are you sure you don’t want them to have a look at you?” he asks warmly.

Tony shakes his head. If his own injuries are serious, Bruce would be more persistent about it. The blood on his face is already drying. Besides, he doesn’t care, not one bit. Steve’s condition is by far more important.

“I’m going to get debriefed,” Natasha announces blankly. After all, a battle did take place. Debriefing is Steve’s job, but he’s clearly unavailable for it at the moment. No one responds.

Ten more minutes pass. Nothing happens. A single doctor comes in and checks Steve’s temperature, but it has not risen. He considers moving him back to the operation room, and then decides to give it a bit more time. The serum needs to take its course, he says. Tony is speechless and motionless, just the way Steve is. Clint and Thor head back to the Tower eventually. Bruce stays and assists the doctors from time to time.

“Don’t stay here all night, Tony,” he tells him eventually, putting on his coat.

“Why not?”  Tony murmurs, and his voice is raw. It’s the first time he speaks in an hour or two.

He gives Tony a small pat on the shoulder and turns to leave. “Just don’t do it.”

Tony doesn’t like that. Then again, the last time he didn’t do as he was told, he put Steve in a hospital. He just sighs and leans back in his chair, not daring to take his eyes off the soldier. He could, after all, wake up. Or not.

Natasha returns from debriefing. Her face is grim, but she’s more presentable than Tony is. She looks around the room and then settles her eyes on Steve, arms crossed. “Any change?” she asks softly.

Tony shakes his head. She sees it from the corner of her eye.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Home,” he answers, voice breaking.

She gazes at him then, but his eyes are on the floor. Natasha clears her throat and walks over to him. “I want to thank you, Tony,” she tells him. “For coming to help me.”

He chuckles humorlessly, and it’s a bit unbelievable. “Isn’t that why we’re here?” he asks, not looking for an answer. “Because I left him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it would’ve happened anyway,” she counters.

Tony doesn’t believe in fate. Besides, what kind of stupid fate would want Steve like this? “No, it wouldn’t’ve. I would have saved him. I _could_ have saved him.”

She leans down towards him. “You still can. He’s not dead, he’s right here.” She gestures towards him. “I just wanted to thank you. I really do appreciate it.” After a moment, she adds, “You’re a good man, Tony.” Then she goes home.

After the sound of her heels fades away, the room is silent. It’s midnight, which means it’s Christmas now. Tony has never cared for the holidays, but Steve would. _Steve would_.

He ignores Bruce’s advice for a few hours. Steve is taken for another operation, this time for his shoulder and collarbone, and when they return him, his temperature is a bit higher than before. Tony thanks them quietly.

He’s exhausted, but it’s not from sleeplessness. He’s weary from fighting and from anticipation, but most of all, it’s the guilt. It’s burning him, and for a moment he’s not sure if he’s even breathing. Steve is cataleptic in a hospital bed and it’s his fault. Even worse, Tony begins to wonder whether the reason he’s this upset is because Steve is hurt, or because of the pain and remorse it’s causing himself. Probably the latter; he is, after all, a textbook narcissist.

He wants to cry. He holds it all in for a while, but an hour later, he can no longer take it. He reaches out and rests his head on the bed, by Steve, sobbing onto the sheets. They’re electric and have been heated to raise his body temperature.

“I’m sorry,” Tony weeps. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

He falls asleep like this.

Someone shoves a cup of coffee into his hand when he wakes up. His neck is sore and his back hurts, but he’s not sure whether it’s from fighting or because of the way he slept. At least the coffee is decent.

They tell him to go home, and at first he disagrees, but then again, what’s the point of this? Steve doesn’t know he’s here. He’s not conscious or able to recognize the fact that Tony stayed, and even if he was, he might still hate him and wouldn’t want him to be here. Tony grabs his coat and turns to the door.

“Merry Christmas,” calls one of the nurses.

Tony’s jaw locks and he stares into the hallway. “Yeah,” he mutters back. “Merry Christmas.”

Stark Tower seems empty, although everyone else is there. They all watch him as he walks in, expressions hesitant and questioning. If there had been any progress, Tony would tell them. They all know that, so they don’t ask. Instead they look away and pretend everything’s fine.

Tony doesn’t acknowledge them. He goes down to the lab to work as he would do every day, even if Steve wasn’t dying in a hospital. Later, if Steve came back, Tony would have to make an effort to spend more time with the rest of the team. That’s what he would want. JARVIS tells him to go eat, and Tony silently does so. He says nothing else for the rest of the day.

He has never hated himself this much. Not when Happy was in the hospital—which was probably Tony’s fault, one way or another—or when he watched Yinsen die, or Maya Hansen, or when Pepper left him. He’s never regretted his actions to this degree. And not just during the battle, but for the past two years; how awful he was towards Steve at the beginning, how long it took him to get over his stupid ego and actually become friends with the man, or how he would never be able to admit how he truly feels about him.

So Steve wouldn’t know. That’s okay, it’s not like Tony is ready to tell him. Besides, no one else knows, except Pepper and Rhodey, and maybe Natasha because she knows everything. Whatever, that’s the last thing Tony is worried about. He doesn’t care if Steve despises his very being. That’s fine as long as he’s alive.

Tony can hear Steve’s voice in his head telling him that he’s supposed to stay put, by his side. Tony can see himself ignoring it and proceeding anyway. Worst of all, he can feel the torture of watching Steve fall.

When Steve had hit the surface, one of the beast-things—he forgot what Thor had called them—had Tony’s right leg. It was crushing the armor, but thankfully not his bones, and by the time he freed himself, the calibration and targeting systems were both offline and he had to reset them. That took around fifteen seconds. Meanwhile, Steve was sinking deeper into the river. Tony’s heart was pounding, his eyes ferocious with rage, and an eagerness to kill coursing through his veins. He can remember it now. As soon as he was able to move, he shot through the sky and down into the water to find Steve. The soldier was underwater for around a minute total. Apparently, that was more than enough to break him.

It broke Tony, too.

He doesn’t sleep that night, and the next day is just as meaningless. He doesn’t visit Steve, but Bruce says his temperature is where it should be and all the other injuries are taken care of. At least there’s that.

“He’s not going to wake up,” Tony mumbles, and suddenly he remembers who said the exact same thing that first day in the hospital. He was having a hard time figuring out who it was. It was him.

His eyes have bags under them, and his body is shaking slightly. A screwdriver has been sitting in his hand for ten minutes. He can’t quite bring himself to put it down.

Bruce pauses at the doorway and looks back at Tony sympathetically. He says nothing.

“He’s not going to wake up,” Tony repeats in a whisper. “He’s not—“

“He will,” Bruce disagrees, just as he did the first time. “You’ll see.”

“Okay, Bruce,” Tony sighs. He’s too tired to argue.

The Christmas tree is still in the living room upstairs, and there is an astronomical number of unopened presents under it. No one touches anything, and they don’t want to put it away, either. It would look bad for the press and it’s still December. Also, of course, Steve would leave it there for at least a month. No one says that out loud, but they’re all thinking it.

Tony wanders aimlessly around the tower for a while before halting at the door to Steve’s room. His feet must have subconsciously dragged him here, or maybe he just truly doesn’t care anymore. He shouldn’t go in, it’s probably impolite or something like that, but he does it anyway. It’s a stupid, stupid cliché, and he has the need to constantly remind himself that Steve is currently alive.

There are some clothes on the bed, and Steve’s sketchbook. He must have left it like this before they went to fight. Tony decides to end the cliché there and not touch anything. It’s not his place or his right, anyway. He leaves quickly before anyone can make a big deal about it.

After another day, Tony realizes that he cannot bring himself to go see Steve again. He’s afraid of Steve looking healthy and then dying the next day. He’s afraid of hope.

More than anything, Tony longs for him. If he goes to visit, he might, perhaps, decide to never leave again. He misses him; his bones ache for Steve’s bright smile and glistening eyes and the pleasant dignity he brings into every conversation. It stings to know that he may possibly never see those things again.

It’s all a blur, and Tony doesn’t know how many days have passed—three or four, maybe. When put in perspective, that’s not a long time, but maybe an exception can be made this time. No one confronts him about the situation anymore. Even Bruce gives up after a while. Pepper tries, once, but Tony stays speechless and unyielding. Besides, why should he stop being upset? Steve is in a coma, or something like that, and it’s his fault. He’s not going to forgive himself in ten years, so he’s certainly not going to forgive himself now.

But they call him that day.

He tells himself to pick up the phone, which is a bad sign of his current brain function, but at this point, it doesn’t make a difference for him. “Tony Stark,” he says automatically, voice flat.

“Mr. Stark,” says someone, but Tony doesn’t recognize the voice. He just knows it’s S.H.I.E.L.D. “Good evening. We need you to come in.”

Tony leans back against the wall and sighs, closing his eyes. “Right. Tell Fury that if he needs me, he can give me a call himself.”

“This isn’t for Director Fury, Mr. Stark. It’s for Captain Rogers.”

His eyes open immediately and he stares straight ahead. “What happened?”

“There were some complications—“

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Tony snaps, grabbing his keys and running down to the garage. His grasp on the phone is unbreakable. “Talk to me.”

The doctor sighs. “His heart was acting abnormally, it was speeding up… we brought him back into the operation room. He was awake for a minute before, and then we think he went into circulatory shock. He’s unconscious again.”

“He woke up?” Tony whispers, eyes wide and full of awe. He’s speeding down the highway now. Flying would be much quicker, but he hadn’t thought of that. It’s too late now.

“Yes, for a brief period of time. We’re doing our best to reverse the situation right now.”

“Okay, just—“ Tony clears his throat. “Give me ten minutes.”

There’s no response.

“…Doctor?”

“He may not have ten minutes, Mr. Stark.”

Tony is quiet for a moment. Then he asks, “Why am I the only person you called?”

“Because he said your name.”

Somehow, Tony manages not to get into a car crash. He takes deep breaths and drives at a speed that’s fast enough to earn him a night in jail, but he gets to Headquarters exactly when he’d planned to.

Steve said his name. That could mean a thousand different things, and Tony honestly doesn’t want to sort through the probability of each option. It doesn’t even matter.

The first person he sees is the doctor from the phone. He looks exhausted, but he’s still on his feet. “He’s not in shock anymore,” he says.

Tony breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s good, right?” he watches the doctor hopefully.

He nods, gasping for air. He’ll probably get a very nice paycheck at the end of the month. “He was going to go into cardiac arrest. It was the serum, I think,” he says, and runs a hand over his forehead. “It wasn’t a miracle.”

“Can I see him?” Tony asks.

“Yes, if he wakes up again. And he should, hopefully.” Carefully, he adds, “I won’t let him die.”

Tony sits down, and he doesn’t know whether to be ecstatic or nervous or surprised. At least he’s not numb anymore.

Steve is alive, and although that’s obviously all that matters, Tony is worried. Maybe Steve doesn’t even want to see him. That’s most likely the case, and while Tony has had time to accept that, it still hurts. But he deserves that.

He can promise Steve that he’ll be better, a better teammate and friend, and maybe he could actually learn to follow orders once in a while. He could do that, or at least try. He’d do whatever it takes—as long as he doesn’t lose him.

The doctor comes back into the waiting room and nods at Tony. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t need to. Tony stands up and follows him into the recovery room where he knows Steve is awake. He leaves Tony there.

Tony places his hand on the handle and opens the door. One deep breath later, he walks into the room.

Steve looks much healthier. His lips are back to their usual rosy color, and his eyes are wide and electric. Even his hair is shinier. There are several stitches and bandages around his face and shoulders, and since he’s not in a hypothermic state anymore, he’s not wearing a shirt. He looks up with clear expectation and surprise in his expression, and the innocence of a small child. As always, he’s breathtaking.

“Tony,” he says.

That’s all it takes for Tony to know that Steve doesn’t hate him. His voice is soft, and he breathes Tony’s name with a hesitant satisfaction, in a way Tony has never known before. It’s as if Steve thinks Tony had been placed on Earth to save him when, in reality, it’s the other way around.

There is no trace of animosity; Steve is glad to see him. He’s relieved that Tony is safe. Tony has been doubtful of many things lately, but he is one hundred percent sure about this.

“Hi,” he replies casually, as if everything’s okay, and walks further into the room.

Steve clears his throat. “Is Natasha all right?” he asks. He knows exactly why all of this happened.

Tony gives him a small smile. “Yeah. She’s fine.” He sighs and drops his gaze to the floor. “Steve, I’m so—“

“Don’t.”

Instead of arguing, Tony stays silent. He looks up again and watches Steve, waiting for him to continue.

“No, Tony. You did the right thing. You’re so brave. This isn’t your fault.”

“No, it is my fault.”

“ _Tony_.” Steve pats a spot on the small bed, motioning for Tony to sit down. Careful as to not hurt him, Tony does as the soldier asks.

“Look, Cap, I’m just glad you’re okay. Don’t do that to me again,” he mumbles, staring at Steve. God, he’s so gorgeous and so vulnerable, it’s such an unfair combination.

Steve purses his lips and watches Tony. “How long was I out?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Tony admits, looking away. “Four days, maybe.”

“Where is everybody?”

Tony grimaces. “They’re at the tower. S.H.I.E.L.D. only called me. They said you… said my name.”

Steve chuckles and looks away, perhaps a bit embarrassed. “I don’t remember that,” he tells him.

“Steve,” Tony says seriously, and he can feel himself starting to choke up. He _can’t_ cry, it would be the second time in a week and that’s not acceptable. “I was so scared. I—I didn’t know if you were going to live. I was terrified, okay? You don’t want me to apologize, I get it, but it is my fault. I don’t know how I would have lived with myself.”

Steve listens to him this time, and when Tony is done, he locks eyes with him. “It’s okay. I’m fine,” he says reassuringly. “Really, it’s okay. We’ll just put this behind us. How does that sound?”

Tony nods, and that’s when the tears start. Oh, wonderful. Steve doesn’t need to see him like this, and especially not now. “I’ll be better,” he vows, just like he planned. “It won’t be like this anymore, I’ll be better.”

Steve shakes his head and frowns, eyebrows furrowing together in distress. “You don’t need to be better, Tony. You’re already perfect.”

That’s good enough for him. He turns his head to look at Steve, teary-eyed and all, and bends down to plant a kiss on his lips.

Steve can’t really move, clearly, since he’s lying fixedly in a bed, and would probably inflict more injuries upon himself if he tried to get up. Nonetheless, that’s not to say that he’s okay with this, because he doesn’t kiss Tony back.

“Sorry,” Tony mumbles when he pulls away.

“You’re sorry for kissing me?” Steve clarifies.

Tony, somehow, manages to laugh. “No, don’t be ridiculous. I’m sorry for kissing you while you’re injured.”

Tony is avoiding the other’s eyes, but he can see Steve’s features softening after a moment, and he can hear him huffing once. It’s a casual sound, very pure, and he almost wants to look up and analyze his expression, although he doesn’t do that.

“Okay,” Steve replies after a moment. “So why did you do that?”

Tony might as well just tell him the truth, right?

“Because I love you,” he says. He’s not crying anymore. “Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I can’t afford to lose you. I’ve never met anyone who’s as incredible as you are and I’m never going to, because no one like that exists. I’ve known all of this since day one. I’ve known it before we even met.”

“You love me?” Steve asks, and his voice is awestruck.

Tony nods, but he doesn’t look up yet. “I’m so in love with you. I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”

A moment passes, and then Steve quietly asks, “Can you kiss me again?”

Tony’s not really sure how to take that, but he wouldn’t refuse an offer like that in a million years. He leans down again and presses their lips together, softer this time, and Steve kisses him back. It’s warm and gentle and soothing, and their lips lock together as if they’ve done this a thousand times. Tony frowns when he sees Steve raising his hand up a little. “Your fingers are broken,” he complains, pulling away just a little.

“It’s okay,” Steve sighs onto Tony’s lips, tenderly cupping his cheek and pulling him closer. He kisses him this time, and Tony is absolutely thrilled.

When they pull away, Tony looks at Steve with something along the lines of bewilderment, because, hell, Captain America just kissed him.

“What was that?” he asks, “atonement?”

“No,” Steve tells him, and he’s beaming one of Tony’s favorite smiles. “I love you too. I can’t believe I had to sleep for four days to tell you that. Sorry.”

Tony smiles back at him, and then he looks down. He’s not dreaming. This is real. He puts his hand on top of Steve’s, and Steve squeezes it lightly, as if he’s thinking the same thing. Suddenly that’s not so hard to believe.

“So what do we do now?” Tony asks quietly.

“I guess we should go on a date,” Steve answers sensibly.

Tony gives him a weak grimace. “I’m not so good with those.”

“I’m worse,” Steve promises with a light smile. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out, right?”

Tony chuckles, and, still holding onto Steve’s hand, he tilts forward to kiss his forehead. “Yeah,” he agrees easily. “We’ll figure it out.”


End file.
